Page:Poems (Edward Thomas, 1917).djvu/29

 The twelfth, suddenly, shows me plain.

Hope now,—not health, nor cheerfulness,

Since they can come and go again,

As often one brief hour witnesses,—

Just hope has gone for ever. Perhaps

I may love other hills yet more

Than this: the future and the maps

Hide something I was waiting for.

One thing I know, that love with chance

And use and time and necessity

Will grow, and louder the heart's dance

At parting than at meeting be.

HEAD AND BOTTLE

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